A constellation of emotion.
Drawing on memories’ insular portents.
Sequestered portions of insight amble into ambit.
A porpoise-full consideration slowly rolls over to reposition.
The shell of the soul cracked like the muscle-memory of a chiropractor reaching a book on the shelf.
Tufts of hair tilt over like a crowning moment to remembrance’s endear.
A gentle repair of imperatives to liberty’s steer.
Enhanced, a side-glance into nowhere’s comforting glare.
Sounds surrounding pause & poise making melodies as if time was talking, a listener to hear.
The ground, in acceptance of passage to histories communing in foreswear.
A reflection of ennui. Where a birds-eye view chirps to chip in.
A universe of being. As if the vowels of experience were singing.
The temple brows to a temperance of focus.
A rhythm curves the cursory exhalation to simper subdue.
Imbued a tune, a hallowed heart fleets a-glance a fire-lamp. The dancing flame opportune to offer attune.
Somewhere, the world slows down. A slow dawn as if a repetition’s chant perchance. A resounding inflection awakens alit in in the eyes.
A mantra making conversation in a mirroring mind reminds.
Epiphanies laugh when words wayward-s appear. And wearing a smile as welcoming the self to share.
The Ud-sa major in the sky crooning the musical Sa major. Ancient languages swoon over a high note to the Ursa’s minor connote.
The phonetics swing in twine, saith time. And in the recounting sway in recognition’s encountering mention.
The Moon pips a subjective dimension. A spectrum to awareness in extension.
The wind chimes when shine resounds. Into. Sublime.
A coat of quotes and passing poetry
"Artwork of Minerva from Indian Mughal emperor Akbar's court, 1590 
"Those very groups of gods enter into You ; struck with fear, some extol (You) with joined palms.
Groups of great sages and perfected beings praise You with elaborate hymns, saying 'May it be!’
O you, who in some pretty boat,
Eager to listen, have been following Behind my ship, that singing sails along
Turn back to look again upon your own shores;
Tempt not the deep, lest unawares,
In losing me, you yourselves might be lost.
The sea I sail has never yet been passed;
Minerva breathes, and pilots me Apollo, And Muses nine point out to me the Bears.
You other few who have neck uplifted Betimes to the bread of angels upon Which one lives and does not grow sated,
Well may you launch your vessel Upon the deep sea."
"Minerva | Dante Alighieri